


Like a Moth into the Mouth of a Flowtron

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Benny, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, Bug Enthusiast Castiel, Bugs & Insects, Fluff, Humor, Insectarium, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Openly Bisexual Dean, Shy Castiel, Shy Dean, Single Parent Dean, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6939640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s not sure if he can Google half the names he’s saying, but when a butterfly parks its antennas on top of Cas's dust bunny hair, he remembers it as the blue morpho butterfly, because, like the ocean to the sky, the creature reflects the color of Cas’s eyes.</p><p>Cas just grins, an explosion of pink gums and pearly whites Dean feels like he should’ve paid extra to see, and lets the butterfly build a temporary habitat in his scalp. If what Cas says about butterflies having taste sensors on their feet is true, then that butterfly must be pretty cozy in a warm bath of vanilla and honey shampoo currently quelling Dean’s senses.</p><p>Oh God, how did he get so close to him?<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Moth into the Mouth of a Flowtron

"Insect repellent?"

"Check."

"Water bottles?'                                                                                         

"Check."

"Inhaler?"

"Check."

Dean's about to move onto snacks when Bones charges through the living room plopping something in his lap with a slobbery smile. Dean shakes his head. This is the last time he dogsits something with longer hair than his kid brother. "Ben, you can't just say 'Check' to things that aren't packed. Check means everything's in the backpack and your dad doesn't have to sound like an idiot."

Ben just grins like a chimpanzee. "Check."

“It’s no use, Chief, no matter whatcha say, you’re always the loser.”

A puff of Chinese takeout-scented air and general seven-year-old exhaustion escapes Dean like a loose fart, “Why did I have a kid so young?”

The Louisianan next to him huffs a laugh, “Why did I have a kid so _old_?”

“Oh shut up, Benjamin Button,” says Dean, shoving his side.

Benny, in his two-hundred-pounds-of- _300_ -castworthy glory, makes a scene out of stumbling into Dean’s entryway. Luckily _before_ his daughter, Elizabeth, flies like a Ferrari F12 from the gap between his legs. “Oh,” he feigns, gripping the inflicted area, “I think I mighta popped a hip.”

“Perfect, now you have _another_ excuse to bail on packing for the field trip.”

“Guilty,” Benny says, throwing down a wink as he throws something else to Elizabeth. “Liz, you either hang onto the action figure or it gets left behind, your choice.”

Liz’s long brown hair swings like a sharply turning windmill. “But Daddy! That’s not fair!”

“I’ll tell ya what ain’t gonna be fair, darlin’, is when someone not as forgivin’ as me trips over Superman’s cape. Then what’ll you haveta say for yourself?”

“Batman’s better,” Ben and Dean say in harmony. 

Benny’s head drops onto his unkempt neck so all Dean can see his icy eyes gazing down at him. “Not helping.”

Murmuring, “ _Ben said it too”_ under his breath, Dean continues packing. If he didn’t have his uncle for a boss, Dean would’ve had to take a day out of his vacation to volunteer his parental services to chaperone a field trip to the local insectarium. It’s not like Ben’s crazy about bugs, but Dean thinks it’ll be a good father-son bonding experience after the nasty custody battle with Lisa.

Braeden’s can be stubborn; Dean’s learned that after not only seven years with her, but a few _weekends_ of non-stop ACDC jam sessions. (Not like Dean’s gonna raise his hand to complain—ACDC’s a classic.)

Plus, at least according to Sam, who gets paid to read people on the daily, it’ll be good for Dean to get out from underneath the body of a car—which, translated from lawyer-speak, basically means he might be better off underneath a living, _breathing_ body that shoots something other than oil from its pipes.

Dean zips up his backpack. Maybe he’ll meet a nice beetle. Preferably George.

***

As it turns out, insectariums are a huge circuit.

Imagine Circus de Soleil behind every glass panel; little creatures bouncing around for the satisfaction of mortals not as physically gifted. Everything from praying mantises to termites and daddy long legs beseech the attention of customers, making it impossible not to both cringe and check your body for creepy crawlers.

But the main attraction is the tour guide. His name’s Castiel, but he goes by Cas, rhymes with “a word you guys won’t be saying for a _long_ time”, and he talks excitedly about butterflies as they fly around the kids like multicolor construction paper airplanes. Dean’s not sure if he can Google half the names he’s saying, but when a butterfly parks its antennas on top of Cas's dust bunny hair, he remembers it as the blue morpho butterfly, because, like the ocean to the sky, the creature reflects the color of Cas’s eyes.

Cas just grins, an explosion of pink gums and pearly whites Dean feels like he should’ve paid extra to see, and lets the butterfly build a temporary habitat in his scalp. If what Cas says about butterflies having taste sensors on their feet is true, then that butterfly must be pretty cozy in a warm bath of vanilla and honey shampoo currently quelling Dean’s senses.

Oh God, how did he get so _close_ to him?

“Dean, thank you for volunteering to hold a green swallowtail.”

Oh, that’s how.

“Uh, yeah, no-uh, no problem,” he replies, offering a small smile as Cas comes towards him with a butterfly that looks like something out of a DC Comic, with Rorschach-looking black splotches decorating the outside and a vibrant bright green coming towards the inside. Cas, bless him and screw him all the same, reaches for his tightly wound fist and guides him into holding out his index finger like a loose arrow. Then the butterfly is on his finger.

Dean swears he catches Cas turn away with a blush after he realizes he’s still holding the back of Dean’s hand, but the second grade class roars a collective “ _Woooooow~!”_ which prompts Cas to continue with his narrative: “Oh yeah, so these little guys—or girls, respectively—come from Britain, you know, that place with the _fuh-nay ah-sents_?” That earns a few giggles. “They get their name from their wings, which look a lot like a swallow bird’s. Unfortunately, they only live for about a month and are extremely rare, so make sure to be _extra super_ careful if you touch one, okay, guys?”

The little munchkins nod enthusiastically at Cas and watch in awe as the creature leaves Dean’s finger for the butterfly perching on Cas’s head. Cas turns back to Dean with a shy smile.

“Well, I think that should do it, guys,” Benny chimes. “Who wants’ta see the bee exhibit?” All hands shoot up like a rock concert and Benny laughs, “Okay, alright. Say thank you ta Cas, firs’.”

**“THAAAANNNKKK YOU CAAASSSS!”**

Dean shakes his head in a message only a best friend can decode. Benny just signs _thank you_ , and winks in the most obviously obnoxious way before gathering the children like a herd of sheep.

Dean turns back to Cas with a forehead wide and red enough to cook bacon on. He feels like someone sucked everything out of his mouth with a triple horsepower vacuum, leaving it parched for words, and, well, proper lubrication to _form_ words. Fortunately, Cas’s ridiculously large pink lips help out: “Which one is yours?”

“Oh, uh, Ben,” replies Dean, rubbing the back of his neck. “You might have seen him flying around with those red, beady eyes…” Cas chuckles, a deep, testosterone-high sound that spills from him as easy as Niagara Falls. Dean’s heart hammers harder. “Yeah, he’s not into the whole father-son bonding thing yet, but you really made his day today with that tarantula.”

“Well, thanks, but I’m sure you’re a great dad. Most parents are pretty apathetic to the whole bug thing.”

“ _Apathetic?_ I nearly pissed myself when that man-eating butterfly landed on my finger.”

Cas laughs again, “I know, I’ve never seen someone so terrified of a butterfly in my life.”

“That thing was the size of my fist!”

“Clenched or unclenched?” jokes Cas. Dean rolls his eyes around the earth, but shoves Cas lightly with his shoulder before he rejoins: “Luckily, the only man-eating thing around here is me.”

Just when Dean manages to lower the temperature on the burner, someone hikes it up again—that someone being the very attractive man next to him who just confirmed he’s gay without pay. “That’s uh,” mumbles Dean through a mouthful of clay marbles, “good to know.” Then Cas is staring at him, and Dean’s staring dangerously close to his lips, and then he’s saying, “We should catch up with the group.”

“Oh yeah, the bee exhibit is my favorite,” says Cas, rambling on like a kid in Game Stop, “Did you know when a bee finds something that’ll be a good addition to their hive, they actually do a little celebration dance?”

It’s Dean’s turn to laugh, “Oh really? What does this dance look like?”

“You know,” says Cas, bringing his arms to his chest before pivoting in a one-eighty, except he doesn’t get too far, because he trips over something that sends him flying into Dean’s arms.

It takes Dean a moment to grasp how close they are, because they’re definitely staring without boundaries again, and then he’s reaching between them, grabbing the object with a full-bodied laugh:

“Did I mention I’m a huge Superman fan?”


End file.
